


The Last of the Flies

by AccidentalAccount



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding, The Last of Us
Genre: All of my titles suck, Don't even look at this, It's for my English class, Just move along, Nothing to see here, why should this one be any different?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:20:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentalAccount/pseuds/AccidentalAccount
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord of the Flies and The Last of Us. Really, you don't want to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last of the Flies

Ellie trudged behind Joel, who was still tirelessly breaking a path through the shin-deep snow that had accumulated on the highway, and missed her horse terribly. Guilt stirred in her chest and she shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. If she’d been a little faster, she might have gotten Callus out alive. If she’d covered her tracks, David’s men couldn’t have come after her. If she’d never even seen that stag…

_If I never went after the stag, Joel would be dead._

She looked up from her proper boots--Joel insistent upon getting rid of her old, worn sneakers as soon as they came across something sturdier and warmer--to calm an irrational fear that he would be gone. Sure enough, he was still there, kicking a trail through the snow, one hand over the healing wound in his gut that should have killed him.

Her own wounds were hurting something fierce, her ribs jarring painfully with every step and forcing her to take shallow breaths while the hole in her hip sent shooting pain up her side and weakness down into her leg. The graze on her shoulder felt raw and was likely bleeding again from the constant contact of her ever-shifting backpack strap.

At least she wasn’t concussed like she thought she was.

Ellie ran into Joel’s back and levitated half a foot back, startled. He looked over his shoulder at her with a bemused expression, to which she replied with what she hoped passed as a sheepish grin.

His eyes darkened with worry and he attempted to smile back, but it came out as more of a grimace. He gave up on the smile and pointed off to the side, just past the first line of trees, and asked, “What d’you reckon happened here?”

Ellie gave him a look. Joel wasn’t exactly one to stop and ask what might have happened. The answer was usually the same every time: people died. Often in horrible ways.

She supposed she _had_  been rather quiet the past couple of days. Perhaps he was just trying to fill the void.

She looked to where he pointed.

“That’s…” A thousand and one adjectives came to mind, half of them very colorful. “...strange,” she finished lamely.

Joel hummed in agreement. It wasn’t every day one stumbled on a pig’s head impaled on a stick, after all.

“Very _Lord of the Flies,”_ Ellie noted, adjusting the strap on her backpack. Joel looked over at her, his eyebrows raised.

“You’ve read that?”

She nodded, and studied the boar’s head. The flesh was frozen solid, the furry skin stretched so far it split in places, revealing pink muscle and white connective tissue. Its eyes were gone and bits of its cheeks were picked at, likely eaten by crows or vultures or both before it froze completely. Frost and light snow caked the top of the head and its tongue lolled out of the side of its mouth, from which protruded blunted tusks, giving a slightly humorous twist to the grotesque scene. No blood by the base of the stick, though. The head’s been there a while.

“Ellie.”

She blinked and looked over at Joel. “Hm?”

He frowned, concern darkening his eyes again. “I asked who made you read it.”

Ellie huffed a short laugh that lacked humor and shrugged her uninjured shoulder. “I picked it up by myself, believe it or not. The writing was weird and the characters were boring when they weren’t annoying, but once I start a book I’ve gotta finish it.”

Joel chuckled and rubbed his gray-shot beard. “I remember readin’ that when I was your age. Freshman year of high school. Required for my English class.”

But Ellie hadn’t been paying attention again. There was.../something/ in the snow by the pig’s head. She started toward it, slogging off of the trail Joel made into deeper snow. She hissed a little when the snow reached past the top of her boots, soaking her jeans, but continued to the thing near the head. Carefully crouching as to not reopen the wound in her side, Ellie peered down at the odd shape.

And found it was the edge of a journal, sticking out of the snow just enough to cast the strange shadow that caught her attention. Ellie pulled it out and brushed the snow off.

“Ellie!”

She jumped, dropping the book and jarring her side. Biting back a groan, she ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry. Hard to get used to having company again, I guess.”

Joel huffed and crouched beside her, the lines in his face etched deeper and his eyebrows drawn together. “Nevermind. You hurt?”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t hurt myself by walking through a bit of deep snow, Joel. I’m fine.” Ellie picked up the journal and cracked it open. “This might be interesting, though…”

 

_12/15/23    Everything’s gone to hell. The leadership, the town, everything. How could one kid kill that many people? How could David, the man who was supposed to keep a level head through everything, let something like this happen?_

_It doesn’t matter. The fire from the steakhouse spread. We thought the storm would put it out, but before we knew it, it had reached the shelter. We got out as many as we could, but…_

_12/16/23    We found out what David had been doing, and where he’d been getting all that meat. I knew it was too good to be true. There’s no way anyone, claiming the Lord’s favor or no, could kill that much game in a winter like this. The twins, Sam and Eric, were the ones that let the cat out of the bag._

_I’d have rather starved than eat people. David didn’t give us that choice._

_Him and his band of hunters...everything went south when they gained power. But the preachy bullshit was popular and they followed him blindly. Fat lot of good that did us. Everyone stopped listening to reason, stopped seeing the signs something was wrong. The beatings should have been the first clue._

_Of course, in this day and age, people can’t be bothered to pick up a damn book or think for themselves. It’s scary, I get it, but when people don’t pay attention shit like this happens._

_You get ruled by crazy-ass cannibals and everything burns to the ground._

_Literally._

_What would have happened when he ran out of strangers to butcher?_

_12/17/23    Most of the others have moved into the nearby neighborhood for the time being, while they figured out what to do. Fuck that. I’m done. I’ve got Ron and Samneric coming with me._

_12/18/23    Sam shot a pig. Good eating, and I know just what to do with the head. Pay tribute to the Beast and all that. If they want to act like savages…It’s technically a boar’s head, not a sow’s, but it’s the sentiment that counts._

_They wouldn’t be able to appreciate the classical reference, though. It’s been too long since the day the infection hit. Most of them were probably too young to remember what it was like Before, anyway._

_I am, for that matter, but at least I read. That isn’t the point, though._

_The way shit went down reminded me a whole lot of Lord of the Flies. Hence the pig’s head. David and his goons were Jack and his merry band of hunters, obviously. Samneric are...Samneric. Ron’s Piggy. I suppose that makes me Ralph. Funny, since my name actually is Ralph, but perhaps a touch vain. I think the girl should be Ralph, since she escaped the fire. And that old man that tore through the town to get to her should be the navyman._

_Whatever. It’s bit weak when I explain it, but I see it._

_I’m leaving this journal here, just in case any people from the town follow us. We’re headed due East._

_And if that girl finds this...Good job wrecking David’s shit, kid. The others might not think it, but we owe you in a big way. Good luck, wherever you’re heading. You’ll need it._

_-Ralph_

 

Ellie handed the journal off to Joel, who was still reading, and started to walk around a little bit to get the feeling back into her feet. December eighteenth was...two days ago? Maybe three. It was hard to tell. The days tended to blend together.

Joel closed the book and dropped it back next to the base of the pig’s head, then stood up. Ellie looked over at him, a slight grin stretching her lips despite the still-fresh memories the journal dredged up.

 _“Lord of the Flies._ I fucking called it.”


End file.
